We loved Oaxaca. Some of that, of course, was just that it was Somewhere Else, a break from our usual routines and familiar surroundings. Traveling together means a lot to me, too; shared experience and interdepedence are good places for me and K to be.
The food was excellent, of course. Monte Alban was great, even with the sunburn. The street art and the botanical garden were beautiful. We took a one-day spanish class in which K did impressively well given her complete lack of prior training. And we talked to a lot of interesting people. It was a good trip, and I want to travel more, both with and without K. I have time for that, now.
The morning of our last day in Oaxaca, I woke up at 4 am to a woman screaming.
“Help! Let me go! Someone call the police!”
I dashed out of the room to the balcony, half-awake and wondering whether I was about to get shot, and saw several people pressed against the front door of the hotel. This hotel had a large open-air courtyard, and the door to the street was large enough to allow a car to drive in. There was a normal door set into it, and I realized after a moment that one woman was trying to open it, and the others were trying to hold it closed.
By the time I made it to the courtyard, the woman had locked herself in the communal bathroom, continuing to scream for help. The others were arrayed around the lounge area outside, quiet and uncomfortable and avoiding eye contact with each other. There’s a certain intimacy forced on people in such crises, and it seemed like they didn’t know how to react or what role to take.
I asked what was happening, and ended up talking to the cousin (“Helen”) of the woman in crisis (“Rose”). I got a rundown on the situation:
- Rose had come down to the courtyard to have a cigarette, had a seizure, and woke up confused and delusional. (She had no history of seizures.)
- She thought she was at home in the US, that people had broken into her house, and that they were stealing her furniture.
- She didn’t recognize Helen.
Helen had told Rose that she’d called the police (she hadn’t) and it would take a while for them to get here. I talked with Helen for a few minutes as she occasionally tried to reassure Rose through the bathroom door. Rose continued to yell for help.
I saw a couple of people out in the courtyard leaving the hotel, clearly feeling pretty awkward, carrying suitcases. And I heard Rose yelling things like, “Hey you! Taxi driver! Help! Call the police!” As the door to the street was opened, I realized I could hear her more clearly from that direction.
I walked out onto the street and saw that Rose had opened the large bathroom window and was standing outside in the security cage at the edge of the sidewalk (most doors and windows in Oaxaca have them). I walked up to her and she begged me for help, telling me that people were in her house and I needed to call the police. The taxi left.
I was gentle with her, empathizing and not directly contradicting anything she said, and eventually got her to the point where she accepted that she was in a hotel in Mexico, though she still thought people were in her hotel room moving her furniture around and she hadn’t been able to find her cousin. She still wanted the police but she wasn’t yelling any more. Helen came out into the street as well, and Rose did recognize her this time. They talked a bit, though Rose was more focused on me.
I’d been emphasizing how worried Helen was, and how worried we all were, and how much better we’d feel if we could take her to a hospital and get her checked out, because of the seizure. I felt like it was going pretty well, and then the police showed up.
The police in Oaxaca (maybe Mexico in general) look very militarized. Half a dozen of them arrived in a jeep, carrying rifles and wearing balaclavas to conceal their faces. The guy in charge was grim-faced and built like a tank, and I ended up doing my best to explain the situation to him in very clumsy Spanish with a scared woman in a nightgown standing in a cage behind me.
The conversation went surprisingly well. It helped that Rose was clearly fairly comfortable with me, at least, and wasn’t yelling any more. One of the hotel staff also came out to help translate. He was young and nervous and didn’t really know how to handle the situation, but having a representative of the hotel there helped. Eventually the police officer shook my hand, shook Rose’s hand through the bars, and drove off.
After that, Rose agreed to come out of the bathroom. She wasn’t willing to get into a car or ambulance, but she was willing to walk to a hospital. Helen told her that I knew where one was and had offered to walk them there. I googled nearby hospitals, worked with the hotel to choose one and give them advance warning of our visit, and then we set out.
It was a little surreal, walking across Oaxaca at 5 am. Another hotel guest came along as well, and he kept Rose occupied while I walked with Helen. She was pretty shaken up by the events as well, and I think she needed some support.
At the hospital we talked to a guard through the bars (more clumsy Spanish) and then Rose and Helen went inside. Only one companion was allowed, so the other guy and I returned to the hotel. I got another couple of hours of half-sleep, and then left for our flight home.
I got a very sweet text from Helen a few days later: Rose was okay. They’d gotten her some medication and they’d flown home; she was now getting care in a more comfortable environment back in the states. She was very grateful for my help.
That morning was perhaps the best part of my trip. I seem to stumble into these sorts of situations more than most people do; K points out that this is likely simply because I don’t avoid them when I see them. They feel… right to me. I’m in my element. I’m comfortable. I know what to do.
How do I integrate this into my life? Should I? Is that even possible? I’ve appreciated volunteering for the Victim Assistance program, but I’m not involved in crises directly. For now, this is just something I’m continuing to think about and explore.